


Solstice and Equinox

by prairiecrow



Series: Solstice and Equinox [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, Courtship, Deception, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Secrets, Winter Solstice, verbal fencing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the balance of light and darkness changes, below as above, Bashir takes advantage of a Cardassian seasonal festival to make a proposal. (Rating will likely change in later chapters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-"The Wire".

The Alpha Quadrant boasted its share of inhabited worlds, many of them teeming with multiple sentient species of vastly different cultural paradigms, but one thing that was a relative constant across the board was the celebration (or at least the recognition) of cycles of astrological phenomena. Chief among these due to the common cultural significance of darkness verus light was a planet's winter solstice. The Klingons held competitive games at Ragh'kanak; the Andorians danced and crafted new weapons at Talvara Hal; the Bajorans prayed and lit candles at Perojo Nalas; the Terrans arrayed their homes with brightly coloured lights and exchanged gifts at Yule; and even the Vulcans, that most dispassionate of species (on the surface, anyway), had a ceremony of kindling a small fire in the darkest hour of the longest night of the year and declaiming an ancient hymn hailing the return of their sun's blazing light. Often the themes of such festivals concerned the persistence of a spark of warmth and hope in the depths of cold blackness, and a celebration of survival in the face of those qualities which were hostile to life, or at least to comfort.

Julian Bashir knew that Cardassians also had customs concerning the solstice, and had even been able to dig up several of them by dint of diligent research over the course of several weeks. It had taken a few more weeks to line up all the physical components needed, and a fair amount of latinum to secure the proper food items from Quark's underground sources. Now the material fruits of his labours were packed into two sizeable square sealed containers, and when he arrived at Garak's door carrying them and managed to free one hand long enough to ring the door chime he felt almost ready to jump out of his own skin with nervous anticipation. He'd done his best, in his relatively inexperienced way, to apply the Cardassian's teachings concerning clandestine operations: if he'd done it right, Garak would be utterly surprised by his arrival.

Several seconds passed before the door opened to reveal Garak, clad in a sleek black tunic that Julian had never seen before and wearing a small polite smile. "Doctor! I must say, this is a pleasant and unexpected surprise." His gaze flicked over the boxes, then to Julian's somewhat reddened face angling out to one side of them. "Are you on your way somewhere…?"

"I'm on my way here," Julian said with a somewhat strained smile: the containers were rather heavy. "May I come in?"

Garak's smile remained, but the terrain underneath it changed character from apparent friendliness to wariness. "That depends."

"On?"

"On what's in those boxes."

Julian paused to shift his grip before replying. "Garak, I've carried these all the way from my quarters, and I hope you're not going to make me carry them all the way back again."

"You could always leave them outside the door if you'd like. I'm rather busy, you see."

He deliberately grimaced at that. "And abandon the  _serak_  pate that I had Quark make especially for Karata-Saar-Tok?"

Garak's eyeridges rose, but he made no move to take the load off Julian's hands. "You had him make  _that_  much  _serak?_ "

" _Serak_ ,  _nistov hral_ ,  _usarl_  bread with  _ferul_  seeds, fresh  _tojal_  with  _yamok_  sauce —"

The boxes wobbled, and Garak finally moved forward. "My dear Doctor!" He slid the top container off the pile and into his own arms. "Why didn't you say so? Only a fool would turn away fresh  _tojal_  and  _yamok_  sauce!"

"And you're no fool," Julian agreed, following him gratefully into his shadowy quarters. He hadn't been sure he'd get this far: after all, the last time he'd been here, when Garak was dying from the effects of his malfunctioning implant, the spy had physically attacked him. Looking around, he saw no sign that Garak was marking the Cardassian winter solstice in any way: the single room was neat but spartan, with a few objects d'art obviously carefully chosen, and unchanged from his last visit. A table near the door, the one he'd set a hypospray on during his previous visit, caught his eye: it held only a bronze metal bowl filled with alien fruit. He set down the box he was carrying on one of the two chairs that flanked it. "We'll set up the  _norsak'a_  here, shall we?"

Garak, who'd been carrying the other box toward his desk on the far side of the room, paused and turned to look at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Julian, who was proceeding to open the clips that secured its lid, glanced up with a smile he hoped was charming enough to smooth his assertiveness. "The _norsak'a_  pillar," he specified, knowing that if his information was correct Garak knew exactly what he was referring to. "Unless you'd prefer to set it up on the desk? I was thinking we could put some of the food over —"

Garak put his box down on the seat of the room's single armchair before taking a few slow steps toward the Human, his mild expression sharpening noticeably. "Before this — whatever 'this' is — goes any further, I think I'd like you to explain exactly what you think you're doing."

Julian wasn't fazed: he'd been observing Garak for almost two years now, and the incident with the implant had taught him a great deal. He'd come here expecting to be met with hostility at some point. "You mean you don't know?" he retorted with a hint of a pout. "Oh, I'm disappointed, Garak! I would have thought that a spy of your calibre would be tracking every move I —"

"Humor me." Garak had seldom sounded less amused.

In response Julian finished opening the box and set aside the lid, then carefully lifted out the bottom half of a tall thin sculptural structure made of flowing curves of delicate metal. It held alternating brackets for small light-emitting diodes in the shape of votive candles, which at this point were still packed away, along with a something that Julian had no intention of revealing to Garak at this stage of their game. "Well," he said softly, "you're a long way from home, and I thought you might appreciate a little bit of home being brought to you. I had Chief O'Brien search the station's database, and he was able to recover replicator patterns for the _norsak'a_ , the diodes that go with it, and other traditional accessories for the celebration of the winter solstice on Cardassia Prime. Took him the better part of a fortnight, too."

"I appreciate his diligence," Garak said equally softly, but Julian wasn't fooled by the sudden change in tone. He was still in danger of being thrown out on his ear, which of course was part of the point with Garak: he didn't suffer foolishness gladly, and that sharp assessment of character and choosiness about the company he kept was part of what made him so attractive. Julian sincerely hoped that he himself would not be found wanting on this particular occasion.

"And then there was the matter — not so small, as it turned out — of acquiring the proper foods. Quark was able to find most of them with a little digging and a lot of latinum, and they were all freshly prepared only a couple of hours ago: don't worry, the  _tojal_  is keeping nice and hot in a thermal storage device. I know it's not much good when it's cold. And of course when I tried to —"

"Forgive me, Doctor, but where exactly did you acquire all this information about a Cardassian festival?"

"From the works of Iloja of Prim, actually."

"A traitor to the State," Garak scoffed, "who wrote a tell-all book to ingratiate himself with the populace of Vulcan. I'd say your information is a couple of centuries out of date."

"Out of necessity," Julian countered, standing the base of the  _norsak'a_  pillar on the table after moving the bowl of fruit to one side, "because I certainly couldn't ask  _you_  for any details, could I?"

"And why not? Frankly, I'm insulted that you didn't even think to ask."

Julian removed the top of the pillar from the box. "If you wouldn't tell me the truth when your very life was in danger, I doubt I could trust you to give me a straight answer concerning the proper color of the  _forset_  and the precise wording of the midnight chant." Trying to fit the top of the pillar to the bottom, he found himself at a bit of a loss in the face of the intricate parts that had to intertwine. "You'll just have to — now, how does this? —"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Garak's stiffened shoulders relax ever so slightly, just before the Cardassian came forward and moved into Julian's personal space, reaching for the pillar. Julian willingly stepped to one side and let Garak pick up the two halves and fit them together with a deft twist and an audible  _click_.

"Ah. Thank you."

Still holding the  _norsak'a_ , Garak studied it for a moment as if seeing it for the first time, then slid his cold blue eyes to Julian in a sidelong glance. For a long span of seconds he regarded his unexpected guest, and Julian met his gaze squarely, knowing that to look away now would be to yield dominance and admit defeat — a sure recipe for being shown the door, and he had no intention of missing out on all the delicacies he'd had prepared for this evening. 

"Tell me," Garak said at last, "is there  _anything_  I can do that would teach you to be less meddlesome?"

"I'm afraid not," Julian responded at once, with a smile that he hoped conveyed just the right mix of confidence and friendliness. 

"And I suppose I have no one to blame for that but myself?"

 _You have no idea,_  Julian thought, but out loud he agreed: "You're the one who approached me first."

"If I'd known you'd prove to be this much trouble…" Garak looked at him intently for another breath's-span, then sighed and nodded toward the open box. "All right, but remember, I'm viewing this strictly as a teaching exercise to acquaint you with more aspects of Cardassian culture. Get out the  _forset_ , and lay it down with the  _sivat_  symbol toward the front of the table…"


	2. Chapter 2

By virtue of his research, with Garak's assistance Julian was able to appropriately lay out the decorations of Karata-Saar-Tok — swaths of fabrics embroidered with maroon and indigo patterns (replicated but still beautiful, at least in his opinion) and symbols in copper and gold thread, draped over and flowing down from each horizontal surface of the room; the  _norsak'a_  sculpture, its embedded chronometer counting down the remaining minutes of the night in the largest city of the southern hemisphere on Cardassia Prime, with the accompanying diode "candles" set on a three-tiered silver rack beside it, ready to be lit and placed to mark each passing Cardassian hour; five larger pillar candles, kindled with real flame and lending a pleasant glow to each quarter of the darkened room and to Garak's desk, which was now cleared of work and spread with a particularly gorgeous cloth on which were laid all the delicacies that Julian had brought packed in the second box. As a final touch Julian asked the computer to play Bashir Collection #24, and Garak's quarters were filled with the soft melodious music of stringed and wind instruments, playing traditional Hebitian winter hymns.

Garak looked up with obvious delight at the first bars of subtle atonal melody. "Ah! Servara! I must admit, Doctor, I'm impressed by your thoroughness."

Julian didn't try to hide his own smile of pleasure. "I thought you'd enjoy it." They had taken up seats behind Garak's desk (Garak having helped Julian move the room's armchair over to stand beside his own desk chair, then insisting that Julian take the more luxurious piece of furniture), facing the  _norsak'a_  across the room, although at the moment they were paying attention to each other. "I recall you mentioning that you liked his music."

"Yes — several months ago, and only once." He'd brought two mugs of hot beverage from the replicator — red leaf tea for himself, raktajino for Julian — and now he regarded Julian with eyes both serious and laughing, running his fingertips lightly back and forth along the curve of the cup's side. "Allow me to also congratulate you on your exceptional memory."

"I pay close attention to everything you say," Julian assured him solemnly with a sparkle in his eyes, then added when Garak gave him a more surprised glance: "It seems the safest thing to do. After all, who knows when you might decide to send me a coded message?"

"I always say precisely what I mean, as you well know." His expression was chiding, but Julian recognized the rebuke as a play-bite. "Nevertheless," and he laid one hand briefly over his heart with a little bow of his chin, "I'm pleased that you find my words worthy of remembering."

"You've taught me a great deal, Garak."  _Including things it's not appropriate to discuss over lunch in a public place, such as the stunning realization that I'm capable of being attracted to another man._  "And I'm looking forward to learning much more tonight."

"Let's see how much you know already, shall we?" His alert blue eyes gleamed a challenge. "Tell me, how long is the night at this time of year in Cardassia Prime's southern hemisphere?"

"Seven point six Cardassian hours long," Julian responded immediately, "which works out to nine point two Terran hours, very roughly. The rites of Karata-Saar-Tok are observed from dusk to dawn on the night of the winter solstice, and involve the lighting of candles in the  _norsak'a_  and the sharing of food and stories with the members of one's family. According to Cardassian custom I shouldn't really be doing this with you, but —"

"Not to worry" Garak assured him. "In the military, so I'm told, officers and enlisted men often celebrate the solstice together. Rest assured that you're not violating some unbreakable social taboo."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, because I'd hate to cause you offence."

"I'm unlikely to be offended by generosity," Garak smiled subtly, looking over the plates arranged beside them. He hadn't touched anything yet, nor did Julian expect him to: by providing the food Julian had taken on the role of host, and only an extremely rude Cardassian would have taken so much as a crumb without being invited. Garak was anything but impolite, and that poised courtesy was part of what Julian found most attractive in his manner.

Picking up one of the plates — small peeled crustaceans set in a frothy meringue on bite-sized rounds of thin bread — Julian offered it to the spy.  _Gorsaku_  were a vaunted aphrodisiac, or so Quark had mentioned in passing with a leer that he'd deliberately ignored. "May you enjoy all the abundance you desire," he intoned, employing the ritual form specified by Iloja of Prim with a smile more than a hint flirtatious. 

"Why, thank you, Doctor!" Looking pleased, Garak took a dainty, ate it in one neat bite, and took the plate from Julian to offer it to him in turn. "And may  _you_  enjoy all the abundance you desire, as befits a young man who is so kind to his friends."

With a little laugh — he couldn't help it, surprised and pleased as he was, for this was only the second time in two years that Garak had called him a 'friend' — Julian accepted the offer. "Why, thank you!" The  _gorsaku_  melted on his tongue with a pleasant burst of salty savour, and he proceeded to offer each dish to Garak in turn, ceremonially opening up the entire table for the satisfaction of the tailor's appetite. Then, ritual form satisfied and connection affirmed, they turned their attention to the telling of stories.

It was remarkably pleasant and relaxing, Julian found, to lounge sidelong in the leather armchair in a quiet room beautifully adorned and lit, and lose himself in the rise and fall of Garak's voice. He had quite a lovely way of speaking, spinning stories with the skill of a practiced author and conveying a wide range of emotional tone with the skill of a trained actor — which, Julian reflected, was what his vocation primarily entailed. It was pleasant to be alone with him like this, to experience communication which, although they were separated by a space of at least fifteen centimetres and never touched, felt so much more intimate than anything they'd ever achieved in the Replimat. He wondered if Garak was experiencing the same depth of feeling that he was. He certainly hoped his presence was as just ardently desired… but with Garak, who could say? That was part of the thrill of the chase, always seeking the faint clues that led to new and better understanding of this deliberately mysterious man who had captivated him from the moment he'd slipped out of the crowd on the Promenade, all sly smiles and gliding insinuation, to lay his hands on the shoulders of a thrilled and frightened young Federation officer.

A great deal had changed in two years. Smiling, Julian listened and offered the occasional question or observation which led to more conversation, and occasionally he would offer Garak a particularly tasty dish or Garak would offer one to him, and he was content with that sharing — for now. As they nibbled their way through the Cardassian delicacies Garak told several tales, stories of his childhood, of seeing a  _norsak'a_  for the first time as a wee boy and reaching for the pretty lights, hopelessly yearning to touch them… accounts of overnight celebrations within the families of his friends… tales of the various ways his people celebrated the return of light in the depths of his planet's winter… giving away few genuinely personal details, although Julian dared to hope that one tenth of what he was saying might be true. Every Cardassian hour he rose from his seat and went to place another diode in the pillar, pressing his palms together and executing a small ritual bow and a graceful gesture of salute before returning to his chair and the flow of words he so effortlessly created, until at last, after the third light had been ceremonially placed, he said: "Well! I've talked long enough, I think. Your turn, Doctor. I trust you have some fascinating episodes of your own to relate concerning your culture's customs during the winter solstice?"

"Actually, I have." He emptied his cup and held it out to Garak. "Another, please?" Watching the Cardassian cross to the replicator, order the drink and return, he took the opportunity to simply savour the way he moved — economical and efficient, prosaically graceful — with an undefinably quality that was evident here, in private, yet not in a more public setting. Was it relaxation? Was he truly that comfortable with Julian's presence? Once he'd returned and handed Julian his coffee and settled in his chair again, Julian wet his throat with a sip of the strong caffeinated brew and launched into the story of the first Christmas he could remember… of the first present he'd ever given his parents (his own beloved teddy bear Kukulaka, which his mother and father, after sincerely thanking him for his generosity, had insisted on giving back to him)… of the Christmas when he'd brought home his first girlfriend, and the awful hilarity that ensued when his mother insisted on showing her  _all_  his baby pictures, even the ones where he'd been trying to eat worms from the garden, and related a painfully detailed story about the process of his potty training and how he'd loved to shout "Allgone!" after every flush… of many snowy winter nights spent in the company of family and friends…

"… and even though it had come from my Aunt Bethesta, who to this day insists that I'm far too wild and would do much better with a wife from an arranged marriage, I have to admit that it was the best Christmas present I've ever received."

Garak, who had laughed with apparently genuine mirth during the account of Julian's agonies of embarassment concerning the baby pictures, had by now subsided to more sedate listening, wearing a small crooked smile that Julian found surprisingly bittersweet. "That's a curious custom," he mused, "exchanging gifts at the solstice."

"Only the winter solstice," Julian corrected him before having another mouthful of raktajino. All that talking had made him thirsty. "Don't Cardassians do anything similar?"

"In our culture, presents are tokens of rank, given from the lesser to the greater and usually to grease the wheels of political advancement. They're certainly not something you'd give to friends or family. It would be considered highly insulting if you did."

"But betrothed couples exchange them, don't they?"

"Sometimes," Garak allowed, "if the couple in question is of equivalent social rank."

"And what do they do, exactly?"

"Why, Doctor!" Garak smirked at him over the lip of his own cup. "Don't tell me you've found a Cardassian woman you'd like to court?"

"If there was a Cardassian woman on this station," Julian assured him, "I'd never be so rude as to deprive you of having the first crack at her."

"What a crude expression," Garak sniffed.

"Perhaps, but you're not answering my question."

"Nor will I. I'm pretty sure it's not something my fellow Cardassians want bruited about."

"Fine, be that way. If I see a gorgeous Cardassian who strikes my fancy I'll just resort to the usual Human tactic of showering them with chocolates and flowers."

"And stories of your final exam at the medical academy?"

He smirked unrepentantly. "I've had very good luck with that, I'll have you know."

"Hm!" Garak glanced over at the  _norsak'a_ 's chronometer and got up to place and light another diode. "The women you succeed with must have singularly low expectations."

Julian, who had just taken another mouthful from his cup, almost snorted coffee out his nose. "Did you just call my girlfriends  _bimbos?_ "

"I wasn't aware they were your girlfriends." He pressed his palms together, executed the ritual bow and flourish, and returned to his seat. "I'd have thought the term 'bedwarmers' would be more accurate."

"Is it a Cardassian custom to insult their friends at the solstice?" Julian wore a disgruntled expression, but secretly his heart leaped delightedly at Garak's not-so-underhanded attack at the women he pursued. It hinted at a motivation which boded well for this night's endgame.

"And where precisely have I insulted  _you_?" He reached for a morsel of  _nistov hral_  and popped it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before concluding: "I happen to think you're deserving of a much better class of companion."

"Well, unfortunately Lieutenant Dax still isn't interested in me."

"Now  _that's_  more like it!" Garak said cheerfully, and saluted him with the cup. "Aim high, my dear Doctor — you never know what you might hit."

"I appreciate the friendly advice," Julian noted with a wry little smile.

"It's the least I can do, since you've provided this spread of excellent food and an opportunity to educate you in the finer points of an ancient and highly evolved culture."

"By refusing to answer the questions you don't care for."

Garak wagged a reproving forefinger at him. "I'm not the Federation database, you know."

"I've noticed." He helped himself to some  _nistov hral_  in his turn. "The Federation database wouldn't lead me around in endless circles over something as simple as its lunch preferences."

"Yet you keep coming back — or in this case, coming over."

"Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment."

Garak raised both eyeridges, looking bemused. "It's the only explanation I've been able to come up with that fits."

"And what about you, Garak?" Julian rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned a little closer, sincerely curious. "Why do you keep coming back to me? After all, I'm responsible for prolonging your life and therefore your time in exile. I should think you'd want to have as little to do with me as possible, or worse, be actively plotting an 'unfortunate accident' in my near future."

"How do you know I'm not?" For a moment Garak's smile became a sliver of pure darkness, but it was followed by a merrier flash of teeth and a chuckle that warmed Julian's heart in spite of the momentary bone-deep chill. "I jest, of course. Good conversationalists are exceedingly hard to find, and you certainly never fail to provide me with…"

"An intelligent and refreshingly original perspective?"

"I was going to say 'entertainment' but was trying to find a politer way to phrase it."

"I'm perfectly happy providing you with entertainment if it keeps me alive."

For an instant Julian caught a flicker of… something, in Garak's face. A microexpression, there and gone faster than a heartbeat. It looked uncommonly like sorrow. "And you've never disappointed me." He glanced over at the  _norsak'a_. "The time is approaching for the traditional midnight chant. I trust you've learned the words to that as well?"

Julian's heart began to beat a little faster. Midnight at the winter solstice was, according to his research, the proper time for the hymn to new beginnings — and also the moment to make the proposal he'd had in mind for weeks. His mind flashed to the small box hidden away at the bottom the crate that had held the _norsak'a_. "I think so. Does it begin:  _Asor t'vaj ner'avli k'yo…?_ "

Garak nodded, whatever pensiveness he'd felt buried beneath an approving smile. "Indeed! Now all we'll need to do is teach you the proper tune. It goes like this —"

"Do we have a few minutes before midnight?"

Garak looked briefly surprised, his gaze sliding to the clock again. "A little over seven of your minutes, actually."

 _Time enough._  Julian put down his drink and rose from the armchair, hoping that he didn't look as nervous as he felt. "Then I have something else I'd like to give you."

"A present?" Garak now appeared both gratified and intrigued. "I thought this was going to be an evening of entirely Cardassian customs."

"It is a Cardassian custom."  _I'm relatively sure_ , he thought, and resisted the impulse to lick his lips nervously. "It's just over there, in one of the boxes. Wait here?"

After a second or two Garak nodded, and Julian turned away, hoping fervently that he wasn't about to put his foot in it on a scale that would make all his earlier missteps with Jadzia Dax look like unqualified social triumphs.


	3. Chapter 3

The crates had been tucked away out of sight underneath a large decorative cloth draped over Garak's narrow bed; kneeling and pulling the fabric back enough to reach beneath it, Julian found what he was seeking without having to use his eyes. He knew the texture of it well, having held it and turned it in his hands so many nights: a long narrow box of  _hir'sarreliii_  wood from Darva IV, polished to a silken finish and inlaid with delicate abstract patterns of iridescent  _xir'ahirrh_  horn. It had cost almost as much as the rest of this evening combined, but Julian had wanted to spare no expense in convincing Garak that he was completely in earnest. What lay within, while not particularly expensive in comparison, had been equally carefully chosen from the case of a jewellery dealer who Quark had brought in especially to supply Julian's needs. He remembered scanning the shining objects laid out on black velvet in the back of the Ferengi's bar, looking for exactly the right design — clean and functional in the Cardassian style of triangular symmetrical forms, but beautifully made and perfectly finished. When he'd made his selection the dealer had smiled and complimented him on his discerning taste.

None of that had mattered. The only thing that he'd thought then, and thought now, was:  _It has to suit Garak perfectly._  He'd been prepared to send the dealer away without buying anything and demand that Quark bring in another, no matter how much the barkeeper whined about the expense — but he'd been fortunate, and found the perfect pair of items on the first try.

Straightening, he turned and for a moment just looked at Garak, who was watching him with not-so-thinly veiled interest. The tailor probably wouldn't recognize the significance of the box, except, with his merchant's eye, to peg it as a beautifully made and expensive object. But what lay within…

What lay within would give Julian's game away at first glance.

He approached slowly, finding himself wanting to draw out this last moment as long as possible: after all, it might be the final seconds of their friendship. "I don't know the proper ritual formula for this — none of the sources I found would explain it, not even Iloja of Prim — so I'm going to follow the custom of my own culture instead." He came close enough to put one hand on the back of Garak's chair and turn it to face him, a liberty that Garak permitted, his pale eyes bright with equal parts wariness and curiosity, both of which intensified when Julian went down on one knee directly in front of him, held out the box, and opened it so that he could see the contents. 

Julian watched all the tiny physical cues of Garak's body — expressing politeness, anticipation, readiness to move in any direction — go perfectly still. The Cardassian's eyes widened fractionally, and although his species didn't go pale with shock Julian got the impression that this was exactly what was taking place beneath his grey skin. After a breathless few seconds of staring he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, full of harsh conviction: "You have no idea what this means."

"I have a very good idea what it means, but in case I've gotten some part of it wrong, I'll explain." He had practiced this precise tone of voice, calm but earnest, betraying neither fear nor any trace of doubt. "The two bracelets are called  _aroja_  and their use dates from the Late Hebitian period. Usually one is made of violet enamel and the other of blue, but because we're both male the colour scarlet is used instead. They're a symbol of betrothal which may or may not lead to marriage, and what you do next is very important. If you put one on your right wrist and put the other on my left wrist, it means you've accepted my proposal to take our relationship to a more intimate level of commitment but that you're not interested in marriage. If they both end up on our right wrists, you're willing to have me as your husband at some point in the future. If you don't put the bracelets on but choose to keep them, it means you're considering the matter and will give me your answer at the next solar festival, the spring equinox. If you refuse the box entirely… well, that's pretty self-explanatory, I think."

"You've certainly done your research." He was still whispering, although now his gaze was fixed on Julian's face, studying him so keenly that it was all Julian could do not to avert his eyes in spite of his determination. Even during the episode with the implant Garak had never looked at him with such relentless ferocity: his body was still held in tight control, but Julian got the impression that a dragon had awakened within him, wings spread and scales afire, ready to bite savagely. With a sketchy flick of one hand he indicated the food, the decorations, the  _norsak'a_ pillar counting down from darkness to light. "Is that what all this is really about?"

"Telling you how I feel, you mean? Yes. It is."

"How manipulative of you." Soft, hissing, lethal, his eyes so bright. "How positively  _Cardassian_. I suppose I should be proud of you, for taking my lessons so much to heart."

"I've taken  _you_  to heart, danger and lies and all. It's not wise, but it's how things are. And I'm doing the only thing I can honorably do under the circumstances."

"You." For a second his incisive nimble mind seemed to stall. "You can't… you  _can't_  be serious!"

"I've never been more serious in my life." He heard no mockery in Garak's tone, only almost plaintively puzzled disbelief beneath the threat of savage reaction, and therefore he felt it was safe to push forward. "Do you really find it so hard to believe? You couldn't drive me away when you were dying, no matter how hard you tried. Yes, that was because I'm a doctor and dedicated to healing even the most difficult patients, but I certainly didn't have to forgive you for your past misdeeds, nor did anybody force me to go to the Arawath colony and risk my life by facing Enabran Tain." Garak's eyes had come to rest on his, locked with almost palpable force, and he knew he didn't dare blink. "I did those things for  _you_ , Elim Garak, because I needed you and adored you. I still adore you, and I need you more than —"

"You don't even know me." Something was trembling behind his gaze. Julian couldn't tell if it was tears on the verge of spilling free or the barely restrained impulse to commit murder.

"I know you're a brilliant, witty, fascinating man whose strength of will leaves me in awe of you. I know that once a week I cherish every second I spend with you, and that as soon as we part company I start counting the minutes until I'll see you again. I know that I can't imagine my life now without you in it. And I know — I hope — that you could feel the same way about me."

Silence spun out between them, and Julian forced himself to let it, to give Garak as much time as he needed to process what he was seeing and what had been said. He held his breath, not even knowing he was doing it until Garak's hands closed around the box and took it from him and held it lightly, until the tension in his own core released in a rush of dizzying relief and amazement.

"I'll say this for you," Garak murmured, still watching his face like a grey hawk crested with a raven's blackness, "you're one of the bravest men I've ever been privileged to meet. Do you know what you've risked, asking a member of the —? No. Of course you don't. You barely knew enough to pose the question in the first place."

He held Julian's gaze for another long moment that seemed to last an eternity — or perhaps to last no time at all, at least in the rising tide of fierce joy and triumph that was threatening to carry Julian away — before turning back to his desk and opening the second drawer, the same drawer he'd used to hide the control unit for his implant, and placing the box inside it with an oddly careful gentleness. He closed the door so smoothly that it didn't make a sound, then looked down at the Human kneeling at his feet and smiling so widely that it felt like his face would break. "There. You have your answer, for now. Is it sufficient?"

Julian nodded, trying to modulate his expression and pretty sure he failed miserably. "Yes! Yes, of course! Take all the time you —"

Garak's hand on his left cheek, the light pressure of a cool thumb tracing the line of his lips, stopped him in his tracks. It was only the second time the Cardassian had ever touched him skin to skin, and it burned him like a brand. 

"I have until the spring equinox on Cardassia Prime." His tone was kind now, his smile as benign and as opaque as it had ever been. "You said so yourself." He shifted his hand to cup Julian's chin in his fingers, applying light upward pressure to guide him to his feet. "Tonight we have other concerns. The chant, for example, which you don't —"

Leaning forward, Julian laid a hand on his right neckridge and captured his mouth in a kiss which, while brief, was intended to communicate the full intensity of his feelings. It succeeded if the slight shiver that traced through Garak's shoulder and neck was any indication. When he drew back and straightened to his full height he was smiling again. "Just a little more data to help you reach an informed decision." Moving back around the desk to the armchair, he took his seat just in time for Garak to remember that he should really turn around and face his guest/host. "Now, how did you say that chant goes?  _Asor t'vaj ner'avli k'yo…_ "

Garak cleared his throat and stepped in, hitting each alien note of the chant's progression as clearly and accurately as he hit the emotional pitches necessary to tell a convincing story, and Julian concentrated on following his lead. He was no great singer, but it seemed to him that together they made the ancient hymn resonate with power and beauty — and with the hope appropriate to a night when darkness began to give way to growing light.


	4. Chapter 4

There was more conversation, of course, to pass the rest of the longest night — none of it concerning the dramatic episode that Julian had so carefully set the stage for, but all of it circling that point of invisible gravity, every swiftly traded word weighted with new significance — or so Julian felt, or hoped. Outwardly Garak appeared his usual urbane self, the appalled crack Julian had riven in his facade completely smoothed over. Julian was fairly sure that his own emotions — elation, excitement, impatience in spite of his assertion that he was willing to wait for Garak's considered response — were far less well concealed. Nor did he want them to be hidden. One great secret aside, he could never beat Garak at the spy's game and he had no desire to try; in fact, he judged it a point in his favour if his feelings on the matter were revealed in every moment that passed between them. 

But with Garak most of life was lived in the subtext, so nothing was actually  _said_ , even when Julian dozed off halfway to dawn and Garak, after letting him sleep for most of the hour, reached over to lay a hand on his shoulder and startle him awake for the setting of the next candle. Another raktajino kept him reasonably alert after that, enough to hold up his end of a detailed discussion concerning solstice customs on various Federation and Cardassian worlds, and to never mention the  _aroja_  bracelets gleaming in the shadow of Garak's desk drawer. Nevertheless the heat of their scarlet facets still burned in his awareness, a warmth that he let shine in his eyes as the dawn hymn was sung and Garak, with a refined little yawn behind the back of one hand, remarked that he'd need to get in an hour or so of sleep before heading to his shop if he was to avoid stabbing himself with his own needle while working on a Bajoran wedding tunic. Julian had taken the hint, departing the still gorgeously arrayed room without asking for anything back of all the gifts he'd brought — including his heart, which he'd given up for lost weeks ago.

Walking back to his quarters, he could only hope that the riches he'd offered would be enough. He suspected that it would take all his powers of persuasion, applied in various forms over the next eight-seven days, to banish the bottomless disbelief that had so utterly darkened Garak's eyes. That instinctive denial demanded constant unstinting reassurance that Julian had meant precisely what he'd said.

*********************************

It had take Julian quite a while to believe it himself. At a subconscious level, of course, he'd known for a long time that Garak was brilliant and thrilling and seductive — but he'd never been sexually attracted to another man before, and so the signals from his own mind and body hadn't fit into a neat and readily recognizable psychological category. With women he always knew where he stood, and was familiar with the urgent lustful heat that a delicate neck and slender waist and doe-like eyes could engender in his flesh: with Garak, whose flirtatious masculinity communicated itself in smiles and words that dripped both honey and poison, the heat was more subtle and all-encompassing, the boundaries between personal and physical attraction far less well-defined. 

Wrapped up in this fundamental misunderstanding, Julian had crossed the border into love before he'd recognized that he was on the journey at all. Love, unrecognized, had driven him to save Garak's life: he had risked torture and death gladly, thinking only (with the part of his mind that he could spare for such considerations in the heat of the moment) that Garak  _could not_  die, he would do  _anything_  to prevent it, without questioning why the prospect was so intolerable to him in the first place. It was only after all the shouting was over, when things between them had returned to more even keel, that he'd glanced up from his soup one afternoon in the Replimat and Garak's teasing smile had slid into his heart like a blade, and all of him had yielded to the tension between them with a silent cry of need and realization:  _Come to me, you gorgeous impossible man, and let me hold you, and I promise I'll never let you go!_

His mouth had fallen open and he’d stared at Garak in amazed adoration, almost dropping his spoon as well when the first rush of unmistakably sexual heat surged through him from blushing cheeks to curling toes. For a few seconds words had failed him completely, and Garak, coming to the end of his argument, had received only silence as a reward for his elaborately made point. Once Julian's brain started working again it had taken some fancy verbal footwork to convince Garak that nothing was wrong and that he had to leave immediately — he'd babbled something about seeing a girl he fancied heading down the Promenade and having to follow her  _that instant_ , an excuse which Garak had accepted, or pretended to accept, with good grace. He'd even wished Julian luck, the irony of which pained him considerably as he took himself back to the Infirmary with all possible speed, his heart pounding and his head reeling. 

He'd run into Miles along the way and barely spared ten words for the Chief, leaving his friend staring after him as he resumed his course down the Promenade: he'd hear about his rudeness later from a third source, but at the time all he'd been able to think about was getting somewhere quiet, a place where he could sit down and start figuring things out, and his preoccupation would be accepted as simply part of his job.

And ponder he certainly did. Even in his enhanced memory the following few days were a bit of a blur, every gram of mental energy he could spare from his duties devoted to the task of crunching internal data, but again and again the results were the same: it all came back to Garak, and that was very bad news indeed on a number of different levels. Even worse… 

*********************************

"… which meant that the quantum singularity had… Julian?"

"Hmm?" With a little start he came back to himself, realizing that he'd been staring into his coffee cup with his mind a million miles away from the company he was keeping. He mustered a smile for the lovely woman raising an eyebrow at him from across the table in Quark's bar. "Oh. Sorry, Jadzia. I'm afraid my mind wandered for a moment there."

"For a moment? I don't think you've heard a single word I've said for the past half hour."

"Of course I did," Julian protested.

"Really? Then what have I been talking about?"

Desperately Julian cast his mind back over the specified time frame, only to discover that his augmented mind, normally up to the task of keeping track of events not the subject of his full attention, was drawing a blank.  _Sorry, all circuits are busy._  "Um, you were describing the quantum singularity detected by the station's sensors the day before yesterday, and how it… affected various systems…" That was all he had, and he offered his most charming smile to cover the lack.

Jadzia wasn't fooled. She never was. "Julian…"

Julian slumped his shoulders fractionally, signalling defeat. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's a fascinating story, I'm sure. I'm just… a little preoccupied."

"For five whole days?"

This time he turned his attention to his coffee to avoid her penetrating gaze. "No! Of course not."

"That's not what Chief O'Brien says. He's been complaining that you cut him dead on the Promenade earlier this week, and that you've been turning down his invitations to darts  _and_ racquetball."

Julian shrugged in what he hoped was a casual manner, even though he knew the accusation was perfectly true — and telling. "I've been busy, that's all."

"Even Quark's noticed."

" _Quark?_ " 

"He's a smart man. Not much gets past him. He's convinced you've fallen in love with somebody."

"Fallen in —" Julian's heart rate picked up, a trick it seemed to be performing a lot lately, and he wished desperately that Humans could control autonomic reflexes like blushing. "That's ridiculous! And what would Quark know about it, anyway? Assuming 'it' had happened," he added hastily, "which it hasn't!"

Jadzia was silent for a moment, regarding him over the rim of her raktajino cup. "Is it anyone I know?" she asked with a hint of a teasing smile that reminded him far too much of Garak for comfort.

"There  _isn't_  anyone," he'd protested, feeling like dirt for lying to her — he'd pined for her once, after all, and now he counted her among his closest friends on this outpost. The memory of how he'd felt about her originally only highlighted how much what he felt for Garak was unlike that sort of lustful infatuation. How deep it ran, and how potent, and how all-encompassing and distracting now that he saw it for what it was. "Really. I'm just… I have a lot of things on my mind."

"Hmm." She gazed at him for a long moment, and he was just starting to seriously worry that she intended to launch a full-scale interrogation when she picked up her cup and rose from her seat, looking down at him with the kindness of a compassionate young woman and the wisdom of centuries. "Well, if you ever need someone to help you figure things out, you know where to find me."

He managed a rather half-hearted smile in response, his heart sinking as he contemplated the fact that his state of mind, which he'd considered a deep dark secret perceptible only to himself, had been picked up on by at least two other people — and if Quark had suspicions he'd probably told Morn, and if  _Morn_  knew then half the station was probably talking about it behind his back. Which meant… oh Lord, word had to have reached Garak by now, although if there were indeed a benevolent Deity in charge of the universe surely He or She would have led the Cardassian to believe that his Human friend had simply fallen hard for yet another in the long line of beautiful women he habitually pursued.

And who could blame him if he came to that conclusion? Since arriving on Deep Space Nine, Julian had used sexual attractiveness as his primary yardstick in seeking out intimate partners: if he saw a lovely female he went after her, accepting the inevitable (and sometimes brutal) rejections he received as the hazard of playing the game. Long-term mental and emotional compatibility had been fairly far down on his list of criteria — 

"— which made this even more of a surprise," he explained, looking down into another cup (this one full of Tarkalean tea) cradled in both hands. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, head down, not meeting Jadzia's gaze across the coffee table in her quarters. It was the evening of the day after their conversation in Quark's, and he was meeting Garak (whose name hadn't come up in the present conversation) for lunch in less than seventeen hours — and he was desperately in need of advice, because for an incredibly smart man he was having an extraordinary amount of trouble figuring out where he stood. "I didn't — I mean, I've felt this way before, with a woman I knew back on Earth. I even seriously considered marrying her. But…" He shrugged. "Her father offered me a job at the medical complex he owned in Paris. I could have had a life with her, and I'm sure I would have been happy, in a way."

Jadzia leaned closer, her voice gentle. "What happened?"

"I chose Starfleet." He sighed, closing his eyes under the weary weight of a full week of struggling to make sense of what was, at bottom, senseless. "And I don't regret it, for the most part. But sometimes, late at night, I used to wonder if I'd ever meet another person who'd be as perfect for me as Palis was." The sweet tea tasted strangely bitter in his mouth. "And now I have, and it's… complicated."

"Does this person know how you feel about them?"

"Oh God," Julian said fervently, "I hope not!"

"Why not?"

"Because…" He'd known they'd reach this point sooner or later — the point where he couldn't go any further in explaining things without letting the very large cat out of the very small bag — but he'd at least hoped he'd have a better strategy in place when it happened. He looked up, hoping to find courage in what he saw in Jadzia's face: openness, curiosity, but above all a quality of understanding that invited confidence. "Because I'm not sure what he'd do with the knowledge once he had it."

Jadzia didn't even blink. "And you're afraid that he'd use it to hurt you."

Julian immediately shook his head. "No. No, I don't think he'd — I saved his life, after all, and even with him that has to count for something. But I  _am_  afraid that he'd think less of me." He had to laugh, a short harsh bark of sound. "Sometimes I think he already views me as a child most of the time. I'm sure you know what that's like."

Jadzia shook her head in turn. "No. You're young, Julian, but you're no child. You've proven that time and time again."

"I'm impulsive," Julian said bluntly. "I sometimes don't think things through before charging ahead. And what I'm really afraid of is that Garak is going to think that this is another case of me chasing after something I'm not serious about."

There. The name had entered the room like a panther, black and dangerous, and still Jadzia wasn't horrified or convulsed with laughter. "I'd say you're right to be concerned. Do you know anything about Cardassian courtship rituals?"

"I'm afraid not. I have some medical data on their sexual functioning — not that dissimilar from most other humanoid species, apart from the retractable genitalia — but there's a real dearth of sociological data."

"I suggest you read Iloja of Prim — he was a Cardassian serialist poet who spent several years in exile on Vulcan. Tobin Dax met him while he was living there, and he wrote a very illuminating book on the customs of his species."

"Tobin Dax? That must have been over two hundred years ago!"

"Two hundred and thirty-eight, to be exact. Iloja had an awful temper, but he's the only available Cardassian author I know of who broke their code of silence when it comes to revealing their rites to outsiders."

"So what did he have to say on the subject?"

"Keep in mind that Iloja wrote about the habits of the upper classes, and since we don't know what Garak's background is it's hard to say whether they'd apply in his case —"

"— but surely he wouldn't object to being treated like a prince, would he?"

"He might, if he sees it as abusing privileges only granted to his superiors."

Julian exhaled a slow breath. "Point taken. But since Iloja is all we've got to go on…"

"We've also got the experience of my past hosts in observing Cardassians," Jadzia pointed out. "Admittedly it's not much, but from what I've seen they have two distinct ways of interacting with a potentially intimate partner. One is to treat them as disposable, which is what the Bajorans saw a lot of during the Occupation. If you were to suggest an immediately sexual relationship to Garak, he'd almost certainly interpret your interest in those terms and treat you accordingly."

"Which is definitely  _not_  what I want."

"Are you sure about that?" Her brilliant eyes scanned him, permitting no falsehood to linger. "He's been attracted to you for a long time. It's unlikely he'd be unwilling to —"

"He has?" Julian absorbed that for a moment, then gave himself a little shake. "Well, yes, I mean, he's flirted with me, but he's always playing some game or other — I thought he was just toying with me."

"Julian… Quark's been running a betting pool for over a year, based on when Garak would finally make a serious move on you."

"Quark's been… Garak…" He picked his lower jaw up off the floor. "You're joking."

"Ever since the two of you started having lunch together, in fact."

"Oh, come  _on_." But now his mind was flitting back in time, reliving every occasion when Garak had smiled, or teased, or even just looked at him suggestively. The total was slightly staggering. "Really?"

"Trust me: nobody would be surprised."

"Except me!" Startling news, yes, but it filled him with a current of hope he'd lacked before. Maybe, just maybe…

Jadzia had a sip of red leaf tea, studying him again over the rim of her cup. When she'd put the drink down again her lips were slyly curved. "You really love him, don't you?"

For a final moment Julian struggled with it; then, with a sigh, he surrendered. "Yes. As bad an idea as it undoubtedly is… yes. I do."

The Trill's smile widened, bright with joy. "Real love is like that — it doesn't care whether it's advisable or not. But," and she grew more sober, "there's one person you absolutely have to tell, before you do anything else."

Julian tried not to visibly swallow his apprehension. "Commander Sisko."

"Commander Sisko," she agreed, and Julian knew that accepting how he felt was only the first of many, many steps between his desire and his goal.

He leaned back in his seat and regarded her squarely. "Tell me about the better way to a Cardassian's heart."

[TO BE CONTINUED…]


	5. Chapter 5

The following morning Julian didn't have to make an appointment to see Sisko: when he reached the Infirmary and called up the day's schedule he saw that the Commander had ordered him to report to Ops for a briefing at 0940, time commitment TBA. Seeing that he was the only officer thus summoned confirmed his immediate suspicion that Jadzia had taken the liberty of discussing their late-night chat with the station's CO — not surprising when you considered how long Dax and Sisko had been friends, especially since Julian hadn't specifically asked her not to tell him. It might even work in his favour since Jadzia had seemed sympathetic to his cause. 

He knew that Sisko would be an entirely different matter, and when he entered Sisko's office and saw the look the Commander levelled at him as he offered his CMO a seat — not yet threatening, but definitely stern — he mentally girded his loins and braced for impact.

"I understand that you had an interesting conversation with Lieutenant Dax last night," Sisko said without preamble as soon as Julian's ass was settled in the chair.

"Yes, sir. We did. I was going to come and talk to you this morning myself, but you beat me to the punch."

Sisko nodded. "Given the subject, I'm sure you can understand why she informed me about it as quickly as possible."

Julian nodded in his turn. "I can, although after offering me advice and hearing that I fully intended to take it I'm surprised if she thought I was going to do something rash."

For a moment Sisko simply regarded him without speaking. Cold sweat broke out on the back of Julian's neck: the Commander was one of those rare men who could reduce a person to babbling torrents of justification with merely a look, but he tightened his jaw and kept his mouth shut. "From what she's told me, I'd say you've already done something rash.  _Garak?_ "

"Yes, sir." He didn't drop his gaze from Sisko's dark unblinking eyes. "I'm afraid so."

Another pause in which Julian sensed profound annoyance and disbelief warring with each other behind the Commander's trace of a scowl. "I wish I could say I was surprised, but rumours about the two of you have been circulating on this station for the better part of a year. Do they have any basis in reality?"

"If they've suggested that we're lovers, no sir, not at all. I didn't even realize that I felt this way about Garak until a week or so ago."

"And you haven't done anything about it?"

"No sir — nor do I intend to, for a while, anyway. Jadzia and I had a long conversation about the best way to court a Cardassian, and I'll need to —"

"A Cardassian?" The anger came out on top. "I'd say that's the least of your worries. Or has it escaped your notice that the man in question is a Cardassian spy?"

"A spy who's lent us aid on a number of occasions," Julian reminded him, which didn't seem to improve Sisko's mood.

"When it suited him to do so," the Commander countered. "I have no doubt that he'd also sell us out without hesitation if that proved more to his advantage."

"I don't think any of us can say for certain what Garak might or might not do."

Sisko's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If you're trying to give me a reason to order you to leave him the hell alone, you're doing a stellar job."

"Actually, I'd say I've just given you an excellent reason to let me proceed." Julian let a beat of silence pass, then sat back in his chair and regarded Sisko's subtle seething with all the calmness he could muster considering what was at stake. "Hear me out, Commander. Garak's helped us on three separate occasions — that we know of — and there's absolutely no evidence that he's ever taken any action to deliberately harm Federation interests in this sector. Yes, he's a spy, I don't think there's any denying that, but it could be argued that having a personal interest in a Federation citizen would make him more likely to act in our favour, not less."

"In addition to the personal interest he has in you already." The CO looked far from convinced.

"I intend to ask him to consider marrying me, which is —"

" _Marrying_  you?" Disbelief gained a brief but considerable lead. 

"I would have thought Jadzia would have emphasized that part of our conversation especially." Julian couldn't help but sigh. "Commander… I know I have a reputation as a skirt-chaser, but you're familiar with my personnel file. You know that my psych profile specifies my tendency toward multiple shallow sexual attachments — and that it also states that I'm capable of singular emotional devotion under the right set of circumstances.  _This_  is that set of circumstances. I've been considering the matter for a week now, trying every way I know to get myself out of it because I'm fully aware of the ramifications, but I can't escape it: I love him, and I'm  _in_  love with him, and I've only felt this way about one other person in my life. I ended up walking away from her, and that's a mistake I don't intend to make twice."

Sisko's intensity made the air of the room hum. "Even if it costs you your career?"

Julian met his gaze without flinching. "Are you going to force me to make that choice… sir?"

After several seconds Sisko smiled a slight, tight smile. "Tell me, Doctor, how exactly  _do_  you intend to proceed?"

Drawing a deep breath, Julian launched into the explanation he'd been preparing since the previous night. "I have at least a couple of weeks of research ahead of me before I'm sure of what I'm doing. Jadzia's suggested that I read what the Cardassian writer Iloja of Prim has to say on the subject of courtship, and I'm sure that Quark knows a thing or two himself after doing business here for so many years during the Occupation." He shrugged and let some of the tension drain out of his shoulders, tacitly stepping down the level of confrontation between himself and his Commander. "It may well be that the whole thing will prove impossible. I might make a critical misstep at one of any number of points — according to Jadzia, wooing a Cardassian you intend to have a serious relationship with is far from easy. I know that the winter solstice on Cardassia Prime is considered an auspicious time to make a proposal, and that's eleven weeks from now, so that would be almost three months before I even consider letting Garak know what's going on. I think I can keep him in the dark that long."

Sisko tilted his head to one side, the smallest unbending. "I see. And why would you want to, if you're convinced he's someone you want to spend the rest of your life with?"

Julian felt some of the apprehensive tightness in his spine lighten in response to that subliminal cue, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. "For one thing, I don't want to be put in a position where I'm approaching him only from my own cultural paradigm, romantically speaking. If I do that, I run the risk of committing a social offence that would completely ruin my chances with him. For another… well, I suppose I want to prove to him that I'm capable of operating at his level of sophistication. I think he'll respect me for taking my time and waiting for just the right moment to reveal my intentions instead of blundering ahead without thinking things through."

The smile widened a fraction. "According to your psych profile you do have that tendency."

"And I want to be sure that  _I'm_  ready for this. The last thing I want to do is come at Garak full speed and then wind up cooling off. And I need to know what I'm getting into, what Garak would expect of me in a relationship conducted on Cardassian terms." He realized he had talked all the air out of his lungs and drew another deep breath, this one slower and steadying. "I hope you know that I'm capable of keeping all the secrets that need keeping, Commander. I take my oaths seriously, and I'd defend them to the death before I'd betray any sensitive information. And I'll be sure that Garak knows that from the outset."

"I'm sure you will." Sisko regarded him for a final few seconds — not long at all objectively, yet to Julian it seemed to last forever — before sighing slightly but significantly. "You're really determined to go through with this, aren't you?"

Julian nodded quietly but emphatically. "Yes, sir."

"And if I told you that you had to choose between pursuing Garak and pursuing your career in Starfleet?"

"I'd… have a very difficult choice to make." He couldn't afford anything less than total honesty. "I'd have to seriously consider it, and I honestly can't say which way I'd end up going. I chose Starfleet over Palis Delon, but that was almost six years ago. I'd like to think I've changed since then."

"I'd like to think so too," Sisko said enigmatically, but Julian sensed that this wasn't the time to ask for clarification. "And I've never questioned your loyalty, Doctor. In fact, I have no doubt that if anyone were to prove capable of carrying on a successful balancing act under the circumstances, it would be you."

"I… thank you, sir." His heart rate accelerated at the perception that a decision was about to be rendered, for good or for ill.

Sisko inclined his chin in a little nod. "You're welcome. And you have my permission to proceed —"

"I —  _thank_  you, sir!"

"— with your research," Sisko clarified. "I'll expect weekly reports on your progress, and I'd advise you to keep Lieutenant Dax up to date on a more informal basis. I think her advice will prove invaluable to you."

Julian was nodding. He couldn't seem to stop. "Yes, sir! Of course I will, on both counts! I'll be sure to —"

"Julian." Sisko's voice was gentler now, and stopped him in his tracks. "Be careful. You're treading on some terribly dangerous ground. I wouldn't be letting you embark on this project at all if it weren't for a very important lesson that it seems life has taught both of us."

Julian blinked at him. "Sir?"

For a fraction of a second Sisko's gaze grew… less present, far-away, almost dreaming. Then it snapped back to the present, clear and commanding. "That love is worth fighting for. Dismissed."

Springing up out of his chair, Julian almost left before remembering a final point and turning at the door. "Oh, and sir? I'd like to ask Chief O'Brien to scour the station's database for traces of old Cardassian files referencing courtship and related social customs."

Sisko, who'd already picked up a PADD from his desk, spared a glance and a final nod. "If he has the time, I have no objections."

Julian could feel that his smile was threatening to split his narrow face wide open, but he couldn't seem to stop it. "Thank you, sir. I —  _thank_  you!"

He practically flew down the stairs, prompting Miles, who was working at one of the consoles and had granted him only a curt nod when he'd arrived in Ops, to look up with evident amusement. "I didn't know it was your birthday."

Julian paused, staring at him. "My —?"

"I haven't seen you look this happy in ages. It's the only explanation, right?"

"Oh. Right." He couldn't seem to stop grinning. He approached the Chief, glancing at what his hands were doing: calibrating plasma output flow from the look of things, although Julian wasn't about to reveal that he had the slightest idea what was going on. "Listen, I'm sorry I've been a bit of a prat lately…"

"A bit?" But the warmth in Miles' glance took the sting out of the reproof.

Julian shook his head. "I know, I know, mea culpa. I'll tell you all about it tonight, if you'd like to come by my quarters for a drink."

Miles looked surprised, but pleased. "Oh yeah? Sure, I think I can manage it. You owe me a helluva drink — and one hell of an explanation." 

"Excellent." He nodded at the console. "By the way, I'd like to you track down some information for me if you've got the time."

"I think I can squeeze something in."

"I need to dig up any information left in old Cardassian file traces concerning social customs, in particular the customs associated with the winter solstice on Cardassia Prime."

"The solstice on —" Miles gave him a look eloquent of disbelief. "Now what would you need  _that_  for?"

Julian's smile faded — but didn't entirely disappear. Even the prospect of another conversation he wasn't looking forward to couldn't banish the triumph of winning Sisko's approval. "I'll tell you all about it tonight. I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

It was a promise he kept once Miles was safely seated on his couch early that evening, a shot glass of cognac in hand and an apology for Julian's boorish abruptness over the past week squared away. When told that Julian was specifically looking for Cardassian courtship and marriage customs — and more importantly, why — the response was more or less what Julian would have predicted: Miles stopped with his glass halfway to his lips, stared at him with eyes the size of saucers, then erupted into hearty laughter that went on for quite some time.

"Oh!" he finally gasped, while Julian waited patiently. "Oh God, that's a good one!" Still grinning, he wiped the corner of his left eye, then reached out and patted his friend briskly on the knee. "C'mon now, really… what's it for? Some kind of sociological study?"

"I'm serious, Miles." Julian set aside his drink and turned to face the engineer fully, speaking calmly and clearly. "I want to pursue Garak properly, and I'll need your help to do it."

Watching the merriment drain from Miles' broad face was like watching wine flow out of a jug with a smashed bottom. "You're not kidding," he said at last in a very small voice.

Julian nodded. "I'm not kidding."

" _Jesus._ " His visible skin went even paler and he quickly put his own drink down on the coffee table before turning the full force of his incredulous gaze on his friend. "You're… have you gone crazy?"

"I've fallen in love, which I suppose is a species of insanity, yes."

Miles was slowly shaking his head now. "No. I don't believe it. I  _know_  you, Julian, and you've never been hot for Cardies." He said it as if the phrase left an awful taste in his mouth, and Julian bit back a testy sigh. It wasn't as if he hadn't anticipated this, after all.

"I'm not, as a rule — but I love  _him_ , and I intend to have him if I can." He deliberately used aggressive language: it was vitally important that Miles perceived him as both strong and decisive. "And some vital information on how to best accomplish that might still be retrievable from old file traces left in the station's —"

This time Miles' head-shake was emphatic, his small grin dismissive. "Oh, no — Commander Sisko would have my guts for garters if I got mixed up in this."

"Actually, the Commander knows all about it, and he's approved my research, including having you do a system sweep for the relevant files."

"He's —" Miles picked up his drink again and tossed it all back in one swallow. He held out the glass wordlessly, and Julian picked up the bottle to pour him another. "And he knows you intend to — propose?"

"Yes."

" _God._ " He confined himself to a hefty sip this time. At least some color had returned to his cheeks, Julian noted clinically. "When you went haring off to the Arawath colony I told him things had gone too far, but he said we had to give you enough space to work things out for yourself."

Julian paused in putting the cork back in the bottle. "He said that?"

Miles shrugged. "Something like, anyway. And now… I  _knew_  it! I knew the first time you came running up to Ops babbling about the spy who'd sat down next to you in the Replimat, we should've given you a lecture about the dangers of playing with rattlesnakes."

"Well," Julian said evenly, "what's done can't be undone, can it?" He took a sip of his own drink, then set it aside again and turned appealing eyes on the bristling engineer. "Miles… you're my best friend, and I couldn't do this without telling you even if I didn't need your help. I'd hoped you'd be happy for me. You know that I've often wondered if I'd ever find someone who could be as important to me as Palis was, and now I have. It's not going to be easy —" An observation which Miles punctuated with an incredulous snort, which Julian ignored. "— but I'm going to do everything in my power to make this happen."

"And what's Garak have to say about all this?"

"He doesn't know, and he won't know until I'm ready to pose the question properly. It's absolutely vital that nobody else knows about this — well, nobody except you, and the Commander, and Jadzia."

"Jadzia?" The little grin returned. "Huh. If she's in on this, you can bet Kira knows. And if Kira knows, Odo knows."

Julian couldn't resist the urge to rest his elbow on the back of the couch and cover his eyes with his free hand. He wasn't ready for the Bajoran government to stick their collective noses into the situation, an event which would surely register on Garak's sensors. "Which is all irrelevant to the discussion at hand. I'm not asking you to throw me a bachelor party — I'm just asking you to help me take a shot at something I want more than I've wanted anything in a long time. If you refuse… well, all I'll ask is that you don't tell —"

"Julian." The Chief's brogue was gruff, but there was a gentleness there that led Julian to look at him again, at the smile that was still wry but kinder now. "'Course I'm going to help you. I think you're out of your mind — I mean,  _Garak?_  — but… aw hell, just look at you. You've got  _I'm crazy about him_  written all over you."

"Not in too big letters, I hope. I managed to get out of seeing him for lunch today — he called to postpone it until tomorrow, said he had an emergency commission to finish — but I can't let him suspect what's going on until I'm ready to do things properly."

"That's going to be tough. The man's a spy, after all. But hey, you've been giving him moony-eyed looks ever since that business with the wire in his head — maybe he won't even notice anything different."

"I have?"

"Yeah. You have."

He covered his eyes again. "Bloody hell…"

"Half the station's been talking about it. I never put any stock in it myself, but… You really didn't know?"

"I'm finding out all sorts of interesting things this week."

"You and me both," Miles muttered, then reached out and clapped him on the shoulder a touch awkwardly but with earnest sincerity. "Cheer up! He won't hear anything from me — or from Keiko, I guarantee it."

"Of course he won't," Julian sighed.  _But he might hear it from Kira, or Odo — or Quark, for that matter._  He unshielded his eyes and straightened, shifting his hand to hover over his combadge. "Will you excuse me for a moment?"

Miles nodded. "Sure."

He tapped the communicator once. "Bashir to Dax."

After a slight pause Jadzia's voice responded:  _"Yes, Julian?"_

"I have a couple of questions for you, if you've got a moment."

 _"Of course. I was just having dinner."_

"Ah. Sorry to interrupt. Would Major Kira happen to be with you?"

 _"No, I'm in my quarters, with a guest."_  Her voice had taken on that sly glide, subtle but hot, that Julian had come to associate with her more amorous pursuits.

"I see." He cleared his throat. "Well, regarding Kira… does she know?"

 _"Know?"_

"About what we discussed last night."

Jadzia's delivery turned businesslike.  _"Not from me. And I'm sure Benjamin wouldn't have told her either."_

"Good. Because it could make things rather… well, awkward if she did."

Another little pause. A giggle, clearly not directed at him, her tone suddenly a little breathless.  _"I'm sure it would. Is there anything —?"_

"No. No, there's not. Thank you and, ah, have a  _very_  good night."

He glanced over to see Miles grinning at him. "Feel better?"

"A little." He drew a deep breath and finished his drink, then poured himself another, courteously topping up Miles' glass as well.

The Chief settled himself on the couch more comfortably, his small grin now teasing. "Wanna talk about bachelor parties?"

"Not for at least another eleven weeks," Julian said firmly. "And if one ever becomes necessary, trust me, you'll be the first to know."

[TO BE CONTINUED…]


	7. Chapter 7

Miles didn't stay terribly late — they both had early duty shifts the next morning, after all — but they had another two shots of cognac apiece while discussing Julian's parameters for the system scan, and by the time they were wrapping up Julian was feeling, if not precisely drunk, at least deliciously mellow. Now that he knew that Kira wasn't in the picture and that the Bajoran government wouldn't come screaming for his head anytime soon he could concentrate on other, more pleasant things.

"You've lost your mind," Miles repeated for the seventh time, but so fondly that Julian couldn't possibly take offence.

"No," Julian insisted, leaning forward with both elbows on his knees to make his point, "no, I mean it — he's  _wonderful_. If you just got to  _know_  him —"

"I'll pass, thanks." Miles lounged even further down into the couch and took a nip of his drink, which was almost gone. "I've got enough trouble in my life without letting a sleeveen like that get anywhere near me."

Julian looked at him in perplexity. "… sleeveen?"

"It means he's a bloody snake," Miles clarified with an amused curl of his neat lips. "Come on, Julian, he even looks like one!"

"Fine. Be that way." He scowled, but with no real malice. "After I marry him you'll have to have us over to dinner once a week, and  _then_  you'll be sorry you didn't take the time to get to know him now."

"I don't have you over to dinner once a week as it stands, y'eedjit."

"True, but Garak's a brilliant conversationalist. He'll make it worth your while, I promise."

Miles held up a cautionary finger. "Maybe, but there's many a slip twixt cup and lip, and first you've got to win him — and something tells me that's one snake that won't be easily caught."

Julian slumped against the back of the couch with a little sigh. "I know. He's so damned brilliant, he doesn't miss a trick — and I love him for it, but now it's a point against me." He let his gaze drift to the ceiling, and his time his sigh was dreamy. "Those  _eyes_ … every time he looks at me, I feel like — like I want to be  _better_ , like I want to be the special kind of person who's  _worthy_  of his company. And then when he smiles at me, that amazing smile that really reaches his eyes, I know that he thinks I am."

"What, worthy?"

Julian nodded, knowing he wore a silly little smile and not particularly caring.

"Or maybe he just thinks you're entertaining," Miles pointed out. "A lot of people do."

Frowning, Julian turned his attention back to his present company. "You're not helping."

The engineer shrugged. "Sorry," he said with scarcely a hint of true repentance.

"But what if…" He looked to the ceiling again, his eyebrows drawing together again. "What if that's it, really. What if I'm just a kid to him, someone who amuses him and never really wins his respect? What if he's been laughing at me all this time? What if —"

"Julian." A warm hand on his knee made him pause and look at his guest, who was wearing an expression of solemn gravity. "Y'know what people have been saying about the two of you?"

"No, and I'm not sure I want to."

"Well, I'll tell you what Jadzia's been saying, anyway, and she's been around the block a time or seven so she ought to know." He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as if to impart a great secret. "She thinks that Garak's a damned lonely man, and that he thinks the world of you, especially since you went out on a limb to help him when his implant went bad. She thinks you'd be good for him if he'd just let you get close enough, and…" He looked pensive for a moment, then shook his head and let his hand slide off of Julian's knee. "Aw, hell, I don't know. But I do know that I want you to be happy." A questioning glance from beneath raised eyebrows. "D'you really think having him would accomplish that?"

"I know that I love him," Julian replied without hesitation or second thought, "and that means I have to try."

"Well then, that's it, isn't it?" He finished off his drink and put the empty glass on the coffee table, then got to his feet with barely a wobble. "I'd better be getting home. I've still got to tell Keiko about all this — and don't worry," he added, holding up a hand to forestall Julian's protest, "I'll tell her that she can't tell anybody else."

After a moment Julian closed his mouth and nodded. Of course he couldn't expect Miles to keep that kind of secret from his wife. He started to get up, but Miles waved him back. "Naw, don't worry. I can see myself out. G'night, Julian."

"Good night." He watched the Chief leave, walking very steadily considering how much liqueur he'd put away, then remembered his own glass and drained what was left in it. After it was empty he stared into it for a long span of silent time, pondering the way his life had changed so dramatically in a mere seven days. Eight days ago he'd been… well, 'happy-go-lucky' was one term for it: secure in his career track, single but anticipating plenty of beautiful female company in his future, completely unaware that he had a target already marked on his back — until Garak had smiled at him, a smile like so many other smiles before it, and brought him down with a single shot. 

And now… well, now he was speeding ahead in a direction that could easily spin him right out of Starfleet if he didn't play his cards exactly right, or at least out of this posting if the Bajoran government made enough noise about his choice in lovers. But was it really a choice? It didn't feel like one. It felt the way it had felt with Palis, as natural to him as the color of his skin or his eyes — and as fundamentally inarguable.

He gave himself a little shake and put down the glass. He was slightly intoxicated but certainly not so badly impaired that he couldn't read — or at least skim — the sections of Iloja of Prim's book that Jadzia had extracted for his consideration. Maybe they'd give him a better sense of how to proceed when he met Garak for lunch at 1300 tomorrow afternoon, because at the moment all he felt was uncertainty, a touch of panic — and a tremble of butterflies in the pit of his stomach, an eagerness of anticipation that he now recognized had been there every pre-lunch evening for months. He'd just been too oblivious to see it for what it really was.

*********************************

Come 1245 he was feeling no more certain about how he should proceed, only slightly better informed concerning how Cardassians marked their territory, so to speak: the segment on  _aroja_  bracelets and the messages encoded in how they were handled had given him something to aim for in eleven weeks' time, even if it told him nothing about the best way to deal with Garak on a day-to-day basis up to that point. 

Setting out from the Infirmary at 1250, he decided to head straight for Garak's shop: the thought of sitting in the Replimat waiting for the tailor, of the way that inactivity would give his nervousness time to build on itself, struck him as extremely poor strategy under the circumstances. If he acted assertively, he judged that he'd have less chance of tripping himself up.

And so it was that less than two minutes later he walked in the doors of Garak's Clothiers to find the man in question tidying up his worktable, neatly folding away a bodice that he'd just completed if the compact sewing machine and stitching implements laid out beside him were any indication. The sight nearly stopped Julian in his tracks. Now that he was  _aware_ , now that he could read the dispatches coming to him from various parts of his body and mind, the intensity of the overall effect was unspeakably wondrous. 

Given Julian's earlier tastes — willowy and classically beautiful young women, a pattern that had been typified by Palis Delon — Garak could have been held up as the exemplar of exactly the opposite type. He was stoutly built, an effect enhanced by the cut of his clothes; his round face was habitually moulded in a mild and unthreatening expression, although Julian clearly remembered the underlying stern handsomeness that had been revealed to him on one remarkable occasion; he was older than Julian by a couple of decades at least; and above all he was male, his broad shoulders and all the masculine traits hidden by that thick tunic theoretically incapable of rousing Julian's pulse and filling him with a sweet subliminal sexual burn. But they did, and when Garak looked up and that merely polite expression became a smile of genuine welcome, Julian felt the warmth and joy of it thrill him right down to his toes.

"Ah, Doctor!" And oh God, that  _voice_. "This is a pleasant surprise!"

"I don't see why, since we're due to meet for lunch anyway." He approached the table, relieved to find himself slipping easily into the familiar pattern of friendly banter. "Things were a little slow in the Infirmary, so I thought I'd come by early and see if you were free."

"Well," and Garak's slate-blue eyes sparkled with a brighter hue, "you're in luck: I've just finished the emergency commission that prevented my meeting you yesterday, and the client isn't due to pick it up until 1400."

Watching the precision of those broad grey hands as they stowed away bits and pieces of equipment, Julian found himself utterly besotted; only the fact that the tone of voice he wanted to adopt was well-rehearsed kept him safe from revealing it. "Oh, dear — I do hope you weren't up all night completing it?"

"Even if I had been, I wouldn't let so little a thing as weariness deprive me of the pleasure of our weekly lunch." He was still smiling. Julian could have gazed at the sly satisfaction it revealed for hours. "Besides, all I've had to eat since midnight was a sandwich from Quark's, and as I'm sure you can attest the nutritional value of  _that_  is negligible."

"True," Julian laughed, hoping his own smile wasn't too broad, too exultant, or too revealing. "It looks like I'll have to get you to the Replimat, stat, before you die of malnutrition!"

Garak closed a drawer on the last bobbin of thread and turned his full attention to the Human waiting for him. "In that case I place myself entirely in your hands. Lead on, Doctor!" He stepped out from behind the worktable, gesturing gracefully toward the doors, and as they walked onto the Promenade together Julian, basking in the glow of his nearness, felt a little like he'd been caught in the first wave of energy from a warp core meltdown. Amazing that Garak himself couldn't seem to see it… but then again, with Garak, so much went on beneath the surface that the Cardassian could be utterly dumbfounded and never betray a single glimmer of uncertainty. 


	8. Chapter 8

As they strolled toward the Replimat, walking in such proximity that their hands almost brushed against each other with every step (and how had Julian not noticed that before? or was it simply because it felt so natural to be this close?), he turned a more conciliatory smile on his companion. "I really should apologize, you know."

"Hm?" Garak's lips were still subtly curved, his head slightly angled to keep Julian in his line of sight while they walked.

"For abandoning you so rudely last week. I was…" He allowed some of the warmth swelling in his heart and thrilling through his bloodstream to reach his face in a wider, more brilliant smile: not difficult, considering that Garak's presence replenished it endlessly.

"Oh, think nothing of it." He waved his far hand is a gesture of dismissal, although his smile was kindly. "I only wish I'd caught a glimpse of your quarry before you set off on the chase. She must have been quite remarkable to provoke such a swift reaction."

"She was." He had to drop his gaze briefly, although he allowed more of the joy he felt at the memory of love realized (and at his present company) to shine through; he was sure he looked like a lovestruck fool, which wasn't at all far from the truth.

A knowing chuckle brought his gaze back to Garak, whose expression was solemn although his eyes gleamed with amusement. "And was your pursuit successful?" Seeing Julian's smile widen and his eyes brighten even more seemed answer enough. "Well then, let me congratulate you — although I do hope you won't make a habit of bolting like a hunting hound every time you see a particularly lovely face passing by in the crowd."

Julian confined his response to a more secretive smirk — and changed the subject, deliberately evading the conversational gambit. "And I do hope that  _you_  won't have to cancel any more lunches. I've been dying to hear what you thought of  _The Velveteen Rabbit_  —"

"— not surprising, considering that you ran off before we'd even begun to properly discuss it —"

"— and I've been thinking about  _The Tartek at Sunset_ , and I can't make heads nor tails of the central metaphor. Why was Prince Verlagan supposed to find the opal ring? It doesn't seem to serve any purpose, either literally or figuratively."

"Didn't you read  _Sorna at the Falls_?"

"No — frankly, I haven't had time."

"Well, there's your problem." It was a difficult trick to pull off, combining admonition and affection in the same vocal tone. Garak managed it masterfully. "If you'd read both texts, you'd clearly see that opal is a gemstone traditionally associated with…"

The familiar give-and-take of ideas saw them to the Replimat, and through the lineup waiting for a table, and into their seats (in the corner for a change, and in fact in roughly the position Julian had been in when Garak had first approached him over a year ago, a coincidence which Julian considered an excellent sign). Getting their meals scarcely interrupted the flow of ideas, and by the time Julian was ready to embark on his dessert — Garak, as usual, being barely halfway through his main course — he could sense that the Cardassian was leading up to something. He would have missed the significance of the tiny signs only a few months ago, but after you'd dealt with a tiger long enough you became sensitized to the faintest of rustles in the tall grass, the shifting of shadows and the ripple of taut muscles beneath an elaborately patterned coat. Now, however, the tension of watching Garak glide closer was even more thrilling, and Julian found the anticipation almost sexual in its unspoken intensity.

At last, having finished a minor lecture on the significance of flowing water in Hebitian folktales, Garak dabbed his lips delicately with his napkin and set it in his lap, his tone of voice turning casual. "Far be it from me to pry —"

"— which means you're about to —"

"— but I can't help but notice that you've been terribly distracted lately — since your precipitous exit from last week's lunch, in fact. Nor am I the only one." His expression was benign as he gazed at his companion, but Julian knew what sharp fangs were concealed within it. "Why, the clientele at Quark's is abuzz with speculation about just who your new lady friend might be!"

"I see. And I suppose you want me to tell you."

A flash of those very white teeth. "I'd consider it a token of your sincere friendship if you'd confide in me."

He put a piece of larish pie in his mouth, chewing and swallowing without haste before replying. "And if I don't want to?"

"Ah, Doctor…" He wagged a reproving forefinger. "If I'm half the spy you seem to think I am, I'm bound to find out eventually."

Julian sighed, and picked up his cup of coffee. "Really, Garak, it's nothing worth mentioning. I've just…" He made a show of hesitating, then permitted himself to smile again with at least some of the happiness he'd been feeling for the last forty or so minutes: sprinkling blood in the tiger's path, his heart quickening as it slid closer yet.

Garak appeared both scandalized and delighted. "Oh, my dear Doctor — I might be a little past the age of desperate infatuations, but I certainly know that look!" He leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with polite interest that didn't (to Julian's educated estimation) quite hide the gleam of razor-keen interest beneath. "Is it anyone I know?"

He sipped and shrugged. "Yes… and no."

"That's a singularly unhelpful answer."

A hint of pique now. "Which might be because I'm singularly uninterested in telling you all my secrets."

Garak leaned away again, shaking his head woefully. "This is so unlike you! Usually you're quite happy to wax rhapsodic when it comes to your latest triumphs. Surely you're not ashamed of the young lady in question?"

"Ashamed?" He widened his smile in a way that he hoped was a whole haunch of goat laid within the confines of his snare. "Far from it, even though she has a past that could be considered a little…"

"Shady?" Garak prompted.

"You might say that."

"A woman of mystery." Garak seemed to be tasting the words, and finding them good. "I like her already, especially since she's been able to escape my notice hitherto."

Julian hid a smile behind his coffee cup, letting a trace of it be seen over the rim. "And nobody on this station escapes your notice, is that it?"

Garak shrugged in a small, self-deprecating way. "I keep my ears open — and my eyes. I'd like to think that I'm a fairly observant man."

"You should consider writing a gossip column." A side trip, keeping his ultimate goal in sight but leading his quarry toward it from a different angle. "You could title it  _As The Station Turns_ , and Quark could print it off and sell it twice weekly at the bar."

Garak's eyes widened in admiration. "What a charming idea! I've always fancied a career in literature."

"Well, this is your chance." He went back to his pie, giving every appearance of obliviousness to the fact that he was still being pursued.

"And I could certainly get a lot of mileage out of  _The Lives and Loves of Julian Bashir_."

It was a criticism that Julian had to accept as valid. "Only if I get a share of the profits."

"You mean of the few pennies Quark wouldn't keep for himself to cover distribution fees and the like?"

Smiling, he dared to give Garak a teasing glance from beneath lowered lashes, curious to see if the flirtatiousness would be perceived. "Look at it this way: once you had enough material, you could put it all together and publish a book.  _Musings of an Obsidian Order Operative_  has a certain ring to it, don't you think?"

Apparently it was not, or if it was, no response escaped Garak's mildly indignant expression. "Aside from being completely inaccurate?"

"The best literature is a tissue of lies — you've said so yourself, on many occasions."

"But lies without a grain of truth in them have no substance," Garak countered. "No meat to them, so to speak." He gestured at the table before them. "Who would want to eat a banquet composed entirely of meringues?" 

"Point taken." This was the most dangerous point in any conversation with this man: the leaping-off moment when one gambit had been resolved and he was free to manoeuvre in any direction. And now, having stalked back into range, Garak pounced. 

"Do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that nobody seems to have seen you with the lady in question."

"Garak…" He affected annoyance, but not too much: enough to be challenging, not enough to close the path outright.

Garak held up a pacifying hand. "Now, Doctor, hear me out."

"I don't need to." Sharp words, seeming to come out in an unconsidered rush. "My love life is my business, and if I happen to have fallen in love with a woman who's part of a —"

He closed his mouth, holding Garak's gaze defiantly and maintaining stubborn silence as a beat passed, then two.

Garak tilted his head, speaking almost gently. "Part of a…?"

He turned his attention to his plate, stabbing at his pie with his fork. "Never mind."

"Part of a freighter crew, perhaps?" He could practically hear the calculations cascading under that smooth fall of gleaming raven hair. "And a Nemidian freighter departed the station just last night, headed for the Gamma Quadrant."

A defensive mutter: "That has nothing to do with this."

"Oh, my dear… how unfortunate!" But was there a hint of satisfaction there as well? Julian's heart leaped at the implication. If Garak took no pleasure in his sexual and emotional involvement with a nameless woman… "And that freighter isn't due back for another two months, at least! Or so I hear tell."

A pause. A glance up, apparently resigned to Garak's unfailing ability to see through his attempts at evasion. "Well, you've heard right."

"If they come back at all…"

Julian gave him a look that warned him not to go any further along those lines. For a wonder Garak heeded it, opting for a different approach.

"And the Nemidians kept to themselves while they were here," he mused, "receiving visitors in their quarters rather than sampling the station's amenities. That would explain —"

"— why I'd rather disembowel myself with my fork than continue this conversation?" He met Garak's gaze squarely, his mouth set in a tight line, hoping that he was betraying no hint of his own exultation that the bait had been taken and the trap sprung.

The predatory light in Garak's eyes transformed, with a single blink, into paternal concern. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, Doctor: the Nemidians have a well-deserved reputation for successfully completing their trade missions and returning with all hands. Your lady friend will be back soon enough, safe and sound."

Julian held his scowl for a moment longer before letting it lapse into a pensive sigh and a sidelong glance away. "I… certainly hope so."

His voice was as soft as a dove. "Will you tell me her name, at least?"

Looking at him, at the lean ruthless hunter concealed in padded sheep's clothing, and loving him more than ever, Julian smiled wryly. "If you're half the spy I think you are, you'll know it before the day is out."

Garak's smile was serpentine. "Yes… I suppose I would, wouldn't I? But of course I'm no such thing."

"No, of course not." Wonderful, enthralling and impossible man indeed, full of depths that could take a lifetime to explore. Julian dearly hoped he'd be able to earn the opportunity to do just that. "How silly of me to even entertain the notion."

"You do have a rather overactive imagination," Garak agreed. He picked up his fork again, tacitly breaking off his pointed pursuit. "However, when it comes to the interpretation of Hebitian folktales I'd say you're not using it nearly enough. Let's consider the opal room in  _Sorna at the Falls_ , and how the Twins could be seen as a symbol of the Norjaka Dynasty in its final years…"

Paying close attention to his enigmatic companion, letting the flow of beautifully crafted words surround and seduce him all over again, Julian smiled and said nothing more about the mysterious Nemidian who'd supposedly stolen his heart. Garak was first and foremost a teller of stories: given the clues Julian had just laid down, he'd craft a narrative for himself that would far surpass anything his Human friend could have convincingly created. All Julian had to do was continue to act like exactly what he was — a man in love — and be careful not to reveal too much, and his deception might actually succeed in the long term.

[TO BE CONTINUED…]


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been sponsored by the wonderful Pandashivkun. A thousand thanks, oh kindest of patrons! *bows*

Eleven weeks might have seemed, to a dispassionate observer, like a great deal of time. To Julian it felt like a whirlwind of sand flowing inexorably through an hourglass, every second packed with something to do in regard to his grand (and quite possibly doomed) project of seducing Deep Space Nine's resident Cardassian spy 

For one thing, he was studying every word Iroja of Prim had written concerning Cardassian customs, committing them to memory and going over them in every spare moment, lying awake in bed and turning them over and over in his mind when he should have been sleeping. For another, he was relentlessly picking Dax's memory for all relevant data on past and present Cardassian culture, meeting with her nearly every evening to hold long involved discussions which sifted through his own insecurities as much as through the information Jadzia could provide. He had Miles scouring the station's database to recreate any references to the winter solstice festival or to marriage customs, and he was personally conducting a sociological study in which he interviewed people who'd been on Terok Nor during the Occupation, asking general questions about Cardassian social behaviour and including a subset of questions about mating rituals.  

Garak had naturally been the first person he'd approached for the study, a week after the lunch in which he'd suggested that he was pining for an absent Nemidian crew woman, and the tailor had declared himself pleased to take part — then proceeded to relentlessly evade the interview itself by one pretext or another. Julian had expected as much and consequently was no more than mildly and affectionately annoyed, choosing instead to concentrate on Constable Odo, his Bajoran deputies, some of Quark's Dabo girls, and of course Quark himself, who had made a lot of latinum by catering to Cardassian tastes for almost ten years. As he'd expected the Dabo girls — or at least those willing to discuss their interactions with male officers outside the confines of the Dabo tables — provided some fascinating data on the way those males had treated them, which corroborated Jadzia's earlier statement that Cardassian men had established social protocols in place for sex-only interactions that involved no long term emotional commitment. None of them, however, had been able to tell him much about male behaviour in which long term commitment was being sought, although a couple of them recalled one Dabo girl, long since departed the station, who had been courted by a handsome Gil who'd seemed genuinely fascinated by her and who had taken her with him when he'd been transferred out; alas, their courtship had taken place mostly in his quarters and nobody seemed to know much about the details.  

Julian saved Quark's interview for last, anticipating that the barkeep would be an encyclopedia of Cardassian social knowledge whose responses would put the rest of the data he'd gathered into a wider context. And he was right, although Quark's remarks when they reached Question Twenty-Seven were a little disquieting, to say the least. It started when Julian was marking the response to Question Twenty-Six as complete and scrolling through to the next page on his PADD, carefully concealing his keen interest in the next set of responses. He was seated at the bar, facing Quark across it, at 0212 — Quark himself had suggested that they conduct the survey after his business had closed for the night, when they wouldn't be interrupted.  

The Ferengi had been pleasant enough throughout the process, providing prompt and thorough answers, and now he put his elbow on the bar to lean a little closer and remark in the tone of one imparting a confidence: "There's something about Cardassians, isn't there?" 

"Hm?" Glancing up, he saw that his subject's smile had widened to reveal even more small pointed teeth.  

"All those scales… it makes you wonder where they lead, and what kind of patterns they make when they get there." He glanced round as if they weren't already alone, then leaned even closer, his voice falling to a conspiratorial murmur. "You know, if you rub the skin in between those two ridges running down from their ears…" A lecherous grin. "Well, let's just say that it puts them in a _very_ good mood!" 

"You're skipping ahead to Question Thirty-Two," Julian said crisply. "Let's take them in order, shall we? On a scale of one to ten, how important would you say —?" 

"Come on, Doctor, you can tell me!" Quark wheedled, still grinning. "I had a long and, might I say, very successful affair with Professor Lang. I'd be happy to share some tips with you…" 

Julian had to raise an eyebrow at that. "… for a suitable price?" 

"Well, I wouldn't say no to a stipend —" He held up his other hand disarmingly. "in the interest of science, of course!" 

"Of course." He answered with a smile of his own, amused and dismissive. "Sorry, Quark, but I'm not interested." 

"Sure you're not," Quark purred with just a touch of goading sharpness. "That's why you've been having the Chief search for information about Cardassian marriage customs, and that's why you're conducting this 'study'. Completely uninterested. If you were any less interested, you'd have a bracelet around his wrist by now." 

Julian's heart, which had just been congratulating him on his cool demeanour, leaped like a startled deer and sank like a stone. "Excuse me?" 

"Just remember — when you're ready to shop for one, or better yet two, I can set you up with a reputable dealer… in exchange for a small consideration." Even closer, gazing directly into Julian's eyes with a conspiratorial air combined with wide-eyed earnestness. "And I can make sure that Garak doesn't know a thing about it." 

"I'm sure you can." A fraction of a second later he realized his tactical blunder in using a definitive verb rather than a potential one: _can_ instead of _could_. "But that's neither here nor there. Can we get back to the survey, please?" 

Quark leaned back and opened his hands with a friendly smile. "I'm all yours, Doctor. Ask away!" 

And Julian did. But neither of them, he suspected, was fooled for another second concerning the real subject of their conversation. 

********************************* 

"But if _he_ knows," Julian fussed to Jadzia and Miles in Jadzia's quarters two nights later, after he'd had time to let the prospect stew for a while, "who knows who else he's told? My God, half the station could know by now! And sooner or later, someone's going to say something that will get back to Garak!" 

"Don't worry so much, Julian," Jadzia advised, pouring him another tiny glass of Risan dara-fruit cordial. "I don't think it's in Quark's best interests to let the cat out of the bag just yet. If he did, he'd lose the opportunity to sell you a set of _aroja_ bracelets at a vastly inflated price." 

"But you know him," Julian protested, not comforted in the least. "He'll start a betting pool based on who's going to fall off their barstool first on a Tertal night! What's to stop him from making even more money by setting one up for — oh God, I can't even say it. It's too awful to contemplate!" 

Miles, who'd been drinking in silence while he watched his best friend spin further and further into panic, piped up for practically the first time all evening: "We could bribe him to not set up a betting pool in the first place. And point out the part about making more money off the bracelets and the betrothal party than he would from setting you up for a fall." 

Julian turned a frown in his direction, but there was a glimmer of hope there too. "Really?" Another frown at Jadzia. "You think he'd go for that?" 

Jadzia shrugged. "It can't hurt to ask." 

"Of course it can hurt to ask!" Julian snapped. "It would let him know what's up beyond a shadow of a doubt! And with that kind of information he could decide to do just about anything!" 

Miles shared an amused glance with Jadzia. "He's kind of cute when he gets paranoid, isn't he?" 

Julian set his glass on the table in front of the couch he and Jadzia were sitting on and put his elbows on his knees, then his head in his hands. "He could tell Odo. He could tell _Kira_. And if the Bajorans get wind of this —" 

"Julian." Jadzia's firm voice made him pause, although he was too miserable to look up. "When it comes to Odo, Quark wouldn't yell _Fire!_ if his pants spontaneously combusted." 

"Wonderful. Which only leaves Kira, who'd raise a stink that would make —" 

But Jadzia was already talking to Miles: "How much money could you put toward a bribe?" 

Miles got the expression that indicated mental calculations in progress. "Five, maybe six strips of latinum." 

"And I've made at least ten times that much from Quark playing tongo. I'm sure he'd be happy to get some of it back again. Julian, how about you?" 

Julian glumly picked up his glass again and took a sour sip of the cloyingly sweet contents. "Eight strips. Unlike you, I don't play card shark on a regular basis."

 Jadzia nodded, rising from her seat and heading for the science console on the other side of the room. "I'll get in touch with Quark and make the offer right now. Will that put your mind at ease?" 

He rubbed his face with his free hand and grimaced. "I won't rest easy until I get a bracelet on Garak's wrist — and maybe not even then." 

Miles was shaking his head slowly and mournfully. "What's that old saying: The course of true love never does run smooth?" 

"Please," Julian groaned, "don't tell me I'll look back on this ten years from now and laugh." 

Miles leaned over in his armchair and clapped Julian companionably on the knee. "That's another saying: Time heals all wounds. Drink up, boyo. A couple more glasses will make things a lot rosier, I guarantee it. Tell you what — how's about I teach you an old Irish folksong from the early twenty-first century? It'll strike the right note, 'cause it goes something like this…" 

One glass of cordial later Jadzia had negotiated Quark into accepting the bribe. Two glasses later Miles had both Julian and Jadzia singing along lustily with his offering of music, which Julian heartily approved. And three glasses later Miles was supporting Julian on the way back to Julian's quarters, both of them giggling and humming the tune, catchy enough that Julian was still murmuring it under his breath after the Chief had dumped him on his bed and left him to sleep things off: 

_And I ask you, friend, what's a fella to do_   
_If her hair was black and her eyes were blue?_   
_See, I've travelled around, I've been all over the world,_   
_And I've never seen nothin' like a Galway girl…_

[TO BE CONTINUED]


End file.
